I remember returning to my hospital room in the dark one night in full-blown Woe Is Me mode. What had I done wrong? Why this illness? Why was I stuck here?
Desperate for answers, I took God to task. My larger concerns focused on why I existed, why I was suffering, why I was left in the world all alone. What’s the point of believing in a god indifferent to my plight?
Anger overtook my sadness. And I felt relieved. In examining the basis of existence I claimed my suffering as my own. But I also took possession of my greatest joys and everything about my life I valued.
Questioning, searching, demanding proof—these are divine pursuits. Knowing that we’ll never know and still going about the business of being alive—this makes the everyday spectacular.
After years of trying to be smarter than everyone else, of being a good boy and following the rules, of being the perfect student, the perfect employee, I was finally able to sit still and cry. My healing began in sadness, strengthened in anger, and took hold in letting go.